


Splitting at the Seams

by BatmanWhoLaughss



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode: s06e12 Corazón, Fear, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt Spencer Reid, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Schizophrenia, Season/Series 06, Spencer Reid Needs a Hug, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:07:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24722056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BatmanWhoLaughss/pseuds/BatmanWhoLaughss
Summary: “We are more often frightened than hurt; and we suffer more from imagination than from reality.” - Lucius Annaeus SenecaHis headaches won’t go away, not ever. Heknowsthe risks, knows the statistics on genetic predisposition to schizophrenia, but the doctors keep telling him he’s fine. He knows he’s not, hecan’tbe, because they keep happening. He can’t sleep anymore, and he’s never been this scared in his entire life.Or: Eight times Reid talks about his headaches, and his fears.[Rating subject to change]
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner & Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan & Spencer Reid, Diana Reid & Spencer Reid, Emily Prentiss & Spencer Reid, Jason Gideon & Spencer Reid, Jennifer "JJ" Jareau & Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia & Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid & David Rossi, Spencer Reid & The BAU Team
Comments: 58
Kudos: 349





	1. Penelope Garcia

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really REALLY excited about this fic. The plan is for each chapter to focus on Reid discussing his fears and insecurities about his headaches with a different character. This is set throughout late season 6, both before and after emily's death. Chapters will not necessarily be in chronological order, and each chapter can be read as a standalone. Some chapters will be from Reid's POV, and some will be from the POV of the person he's talking with. I really hope you like it!!! I had a lot of fun with this one. 
> 
> Shout out to [ HunterByDayWhovianByNight ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HunterByDayWhovianByNight/pseuds/HunterByDayWhovianByNight) for being the best beta and putting up with my rants about my love of Spencer Reid while knowing nothing about Criminal Minds whatsoever.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penelope finds Reid asleep in her office, and tries to figure out what's bothering him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set sometime post-Corazon, before Prentiss' fake-death.

Garcia made her way back from the break room, stirring her unreasonably sweet coffee with a smile on her face. She was humming quietly to herself; it had been a long, exhausting week for all of them, and she was desperately trying to keep her energy up for a little while longer until she could head home and relax. The team had just come off of a particular gruelling case, and then Penelope got pulled into a meeting with Strauss that had lasted almost _two whole hours_.

She sipped the coffee with a sigh that was almost a prayer. _Yeah. Today’s been a big ol’ trainwreck._

She made her way back to her office, eager to see if the program she set up before getting called into Strauss’ office had come back with results. Another unit was waiting on some data for a possible case, and a blemish on her otherwise perfect reputation would just be the icing on the cake today. 

As Garcia opened the door to her office, though, she was greeted by a strange and unfamiliar sight. She stopped and stared, curling her lips into a soft smile as her eyebrows knitted in confusion. 

Sitting in a chair by the door-- not _her_ chair, luckily for him-- was the BAU’s resident skinny, messy-haired genius. Spencer Reid was curled up on his side in a position that looked like it was _anything_ but comfortable, his long limbs scrunched inward like a bizarre hermit crab. There was a book on the table next to him, and another that looked like it had fallen off of his lap and onto the floor. He was sound asleep, snoring softly with his mouth slightly open. 

Garcia smirked. Now _this_ was interesting. Quietly, she stepped around him, setting her coffee on her desk and pulling out her phone. _Why waste this golden opportunity?_ She snapped a few pics, even taking a quick selfie with his sleeping form before dropping her phone on her desk. 

She debated how she was going to wake him up. She could do it any number of ways; the amount of screens in here made for some interesting possibilities. The rational part of her brain pumped the brakes on her mischievous side, though, as the reality of the situation began to set in. 

What _was_ he doing here? It was past 8, and Garcia knew the others had already gone home. Why was Reid still in the office? And, more importantly, didn’t he have his _own_ desk to nap at? Did he have to take up her already cramped space? There had to be some reason he was in here. Maybe he needed something from her while she was in with Strauss and decided to wait? _He has been acting a bit strange lately…_ They’d all noticed that something was off with boy genius, but he’d kept everything close to the chest, so none of them had been able to figure out what. 

Garcia settled for placing a gentle hand on Reid’s shoulder. Before she could nudge him, though, his whole body jerked upright as he gasped. Blinking rapidly, he was glancing around the room, seemingly trying to get his bearings. His eyes settled on her a moment later, and she smiled as he visibly relaxed. “Hey, kiddo. What’cha doing in here?”

“ ‘M sorry, Garcia. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” Reid rubbed his eyes, and Garcia couldn’t help but think that he looked unbelievably child-like at that moment. His voice was hoarse; he had to have slept for a while. She frowned as she looked closer at him; his eyes had dark circles underneath them, and there was a tension in his frame that she didn’t like. _What’s going on with you, pretty boy?_

She rubbed his arm lightly. “You okay? Did you need somethin’?”

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “No, I- Bullpen was too bright. I wanted someplace darker to read, and I guess I fell asleep.” Sleepy Reid was cute, his words slightly sluggish and his hair all mussed. But something in his words nagged at her: the bullpen was too _bright?_ Garcia’s frown deepened, her mother-hen instincts kicking in as Reid sat up further. There was a tic in his jaw that he was trying to hide, like he was trying to tough something out. He winced once, rubbing his temple, and her concern flew into overdrive.

“What’s going on, wonder boy? C’mon, talk to me.” Reid tucked his chin in, glancing down at the floor as he sighed and cleared his throat. 

“My head hurts.” The words were mumbled, in a quiet voice that was almost a whine. He said it like it was an ugly truth, like he didn’t want to admit it. It seemed like the words were tumbling out before he could stop them, though. “Lights have been bothering me. Can’t sleep well.” Garcia gave him a sympathetic look; she knew how nasty migraines could be. Still though… it seemed like there was more that was bothering him. 

She didn’t want to push him-- _coax it out of them slowly,_ that’s how she always got results when counseling people. “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me the brilliant Dr. Spencer Reid is actually _human?_ I’m shocked.” _That_ earned her a small smile. “I’ve got some ibuprofen if you want?” 

Reid shook his head. “I took some before. It’s been going on for a while, anyway. Meds aren’t helping much anymore.” 

He was still quiet, his words soft in Penelope’s small office. “What did the doctor say?” She knows Reid, well enough to know that he would have absolutely gotten this checked out already. 

Sure enough: “They said nothing’s wrong with me, but it’s still there. I don’t… I don’t know what’s going on. No one does, but it keeps happening.” So if a doctor checked him out already, then why did he still sound so unsure, so unsteady? Why did he look bone-tired, like the world had suddenly dropped out from under his feet? What was it about a _migraine_ that had him so rattled?

Oh. _Oh._ Garcia kicked herself for not realizing it sooner. She remembered a small moment a few years ago: _Did you know that schizophrenia is genetically passed?_ “Reid.” She tilted his head up to make him look at her, the confusion and fear shining naked on his face. “Is this about your mom?”

He was silent for a long moment, until Garcia began to think he wouldn’t answer her. He was looking at the floor again, staring into space with wide eyes. She squeezed his shoulder when he didn’t answer, and eventually he sighed. “This is the age when it usually happens.” His voice was quiet, and there was a tremor in it that Penelope really didn’t like. He looked up at her again. “What if this is when I lose my mind?” 

He looked so defeated then, like someone let the air out of him, and it was all she could do not to tear up. She knew how much he loved his mom, how he never gave up on her despite her illness. But she also knew how utterly _terrified_ he was of developing the same condition, of deteriorating until they had to put him in the same hospital as his mother. She had to get him out of his head. 

“What’s 46 times 18?” 

He blinked once, looking thoroughly confused. “828.” She could tell that wasn’t the response he expected.

“See? You’re still our brilliant little robot.” Garcia beamed at him. “Migraines don’t mean you’re losing your mind, boy genius. We all get them.”

“But-”

“No buts.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet. He still looked confused and sleepy, and she knew she had to say something that would break through the mental fog of anxiety he was trapped in. “Look. Nothing’s going to happen to you, okay? I know this is scary, and dealing with something you can’t break down into cold, hard facts is like kryptonite for you, but you _will_ get past this. You’re going to be okay.”

Reid looked for a moment like he was going to argue with her, opening his mouth and closing it again as he seemed to think better of it. Eventually he just said, “you don’t know that.” 

She smiled. “Of course I do. I’m a wizard, remember? You know better than to argue with a wizard.”

He laughed, a real laugh this time, and his smile blossomed across his face. The air in Garcia’s small office seemed suddenly lighter as a result. 

She led him by the hand out of the room. “C’mon. Go get your stuff, I’m driving you home.” 

Reid started to shake his head, but she beat him to it. “Uh-uh-uh! No buts, kid. Get your skinny ass in gear.” They stopped by his desk so he could grab his bag and jacket before making their way to the elevator. 

Eventually Garcia couldn’t resist, and she pulled out her phone with a smirk as the elevator doors closed. “Oh. And you should know, those pictures are _definitely_ getting sent to the group chat.”

The look on Reid’s face was positively _scandalized._ “You took pictures?!”


	2. David Rossi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's 10:52am, and Rossi decides that Spencer Reid needs a break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set about a week post-Corazon

It was a rare quiet day at the BAU. 

Hotch had the day off; Jack had a soccer game, and Aaron was trying to make more time to attend those. Prentiss and Morgan were down at the firing range, blowing off some steam after their last case and prepping for their re-certification exams. 

Rossi sat in his office, his lights dimmed low and his laptop open. He was planning on using today to get ahead on some paperwork, but it turned out Hotch had already taken care of it. It wasn’t necessary; David had no problem with paperwork, and sometimes he found it almost meditative. But Hotch had insisted on filing his reports, and while he appreciated it, he worried about Hotch’s tendency to take on more work than necessary. 

He decided to use the extra time to try and get ahead on some writing. Writer’s block had hit him hard in his home office the past couple weeks, and he hoped the change of scenery would kick his brain into gear. So far though, he had no such luck, and the page remained stubbornly blank. 

He sighed loudly, standing up and stretching his legs. Glancing through the blinds of his office window, he caught sight of Reid, still sitting at his desk. He was the only one that hadn’t made himself scarce, but he also didn’t seem to be doing anything at the moment. He was just sitting there, staring into space in that way he sometimes did when he was deep in thought. 

Even from his office, though, Rossi could see that his eyes were unfocused. Usually, when Reid was thinking about something, some part of him was moving. His body got antsy as his mind worked faster than any of theirs could, and usually that meant he was mouthing something, or his hands were unconsciously moving. Now though, he seemed sluggish, drained even. 

The kid had been different since they got back from Miami. He seemed to get distracted more easily, and he would occasionally squint in the office, like the overhead lights were too bright. Rossi remembered the case, how that priest was rambling about headaches and protection and spirits watching over Reid, but he hadn’t put much stock in it until now.  _ Something  _ was going on, and whatever it was, it wasn’t good, judging by the faraway look in Reid’s eyes. 

His thoughts of getting some writing done abandoned, David made his way out of his office and down to the bullpen. Spencer didn’t move, seemingly not even registering the other presence in the room. As Rossi got closer, he could see the darkness under his eyes, and the way his body was curling in on itself slightly.  _ He looks like he’s afraid of something.  _

He got to Reid’s desk and stood over him until the kid blinked, sitting up like he’d only just remembered where he was. “Hey Rossi.” His voice sounded normal enough, but there was something… off, something Rossi couldn’t quite place. “Did you need something?”

Rossi stared at Reid for a minute, his mouth set in a line as he studied the kid. Reid just stared at him, waiting for an answer until the silence began to get uncomfortable. Finally, Rossi jerked his head. “Let’s go get a drink.” His tone made it clear that he meant business.

Reid’s brows furrowed, and he glanced at his watch. “It’s 10:52 in the morning.”

“Yeah.” Rossi nodded, clapping Spencer on the shoulder. “Let’s go get a drink.”

Surprisingly, Reid didn’t argue much. He stared at Rossi for another couple minutes, confusion written all over his face. But when David started walking towards the elevator door, Reid fell into step beside him, silently following his lead. He seemed pensive, and for a moment Rossi wondered whether this was such a good idea after all. But the kid needed a break, he knew, and maybe he could even convince him to talk.  _ I hope. _

\---

They wound up in a small bar restaurant near the office. The team had been here before once, after work, but now the place was empty except for one lone man in the far corner. Private, yet public, and hopefully the kind of environment that would let the kid open up. 

Rossi grabbed two seats at the bar, pulling out a chair for Reid to sit beside him. The man behind the bar seemed confused by the two men, but slipping a 20 into his hands when Rossi ordered two beers was enough to convince him to make himself scarce. The drinks came quickly, and Rossi took a swig, the cool liquid refreshing after the hot DC sun. 

For a few minutes, they just sat there quietly. Rossi was giving the kid time, trying to coax him into talking, but as the silence dragged on he turned his body to face Reid. 

He had his head down, swirling his beer in his hand. He hadn’t taken a sip yet; instead he was hunched over slightly, his brooding expression illuminated by the windows. Eventually, as if he could feel Rossi’s eyes on him, he gulped, then sighed as he took a sip of his beer. He seemed to steel himself, before straightening up to meet David’s eyes. 

Rossi didn’t waste any time. “C’mon, out with it. What’s eating you?”

Reid took a couple more sips, as if he needed the liquid courage before he could speak. That was unusual for him; Rossi had never known Spencer to be a big drinker, and it made him nervous.

Finally, the kid spoke. “I’ve been getting these headaches.” He ran a hand through his hair as he said it; Rossi knew it was one of his tells for when he was nervous. “It’s been happening since Miami, and they’re getting worse.”

“Okay.” Rossi could work with this. “Have you gotten checked out?”

“I’ve seen a couple doctors about it. So far they can’t find anything wrong.” His voice was quiet as he spoke, and he was looking at the floor instead of meeting Rossi’s eyes. 

“Alright. Is it just the pain that’s bothering you? I’ve had three wives - I know what a nasty migraine feels like.” He was trying to lighten the mood, to take Reid’s mind off things a bit, but the kid didn’t even crack a smile. David was getting more worried by the minute.

Reid sighed, taking another swig of his beer. “No. I mean, yes, they hurt like hell, but…” He paused, like he was choosing his words carefully. Rossi wondered if he felt like he couldn’t tell him, like if he said something it would get him into trouble with the team. Hotch had told him that Reid liked to keep things to himself, and that even when he had gotten deep into a drug addiction it took months before he was ready to talk about it. 

He put a hand on Spencer’s shoulder, trying to offer some reassurance. “Reid.” Something in Rossi’s tone must have gotten to the kid, because he looked up again. “You know this doesn’t leave this bar, right?” Spencer flushed slightly pink before nodding. “Whatever it is, the team won’t hear about it from me.”

“Thanks. I- The pain is bad, but they just… scare me.”

“Sudden migraines would scare anybody, myself included. But don’t you trust the doctors?” Reid was a scientist, so something had to be seriously amiss if he was going against facts like this.

“The MRIs all show nothing, but there are… other risks they’re not considering.” His voice was shaky.

_ Oh.  _ “You’re worried because of your mom.”

Spencer took another swig of his beer- a  _ big _ one, Rossi noticed. “Schizophrenia’s  _ genetic. _ ” His voice was barely above a whisper.

Rossi had met his mom briefly, when he and Morgan helped Spencer out with the Riley Jenkins case. She seemed relatively lucid, at the time, but Rossi had been a profiler long enough to know all the things an illness like that could do. And for someone whose brain was his biggest asset, that kind of fear would be paralyzing. 

“Okay, listen to me. Is it just migraines?”

Reid shook his head. “Having trouble sleeping too.” 

“Are you hallucinating?”  _ Best to be blunt. _ “Having delusions? Feel like you could take Morgan in a fight one of these days?”

The joke did it’s job - Spencer smiled slightly. “No. Just the headaches.” 

Alright. This was a good sign. Reid was brilliant, but he was  _ stubborn _ , when he wanted to be. He had a habit of working himself to the bone without any real regard for his health or well-being. “Kid, that’s  _ stress _ , not schizophrenia. When was the last time you took a day off?”

He had to stop and think. “51 days ago.”

“Reid. You’re stressed. We all are, and being worried sick about an illness that you may not have isn’t making it any better.” 

“But-” 

“When have I ever been wrong?” Rossi squeezed his shoulder, and Spencer smiled again. “Trust me, kid. If I thought you were in danger I’d put you in the hospital myself. You’re gonna be fine, I know it.” He picked up his beer, holding out to Reid, who clinked it with a grimace. 

The kid looked better; his eyes seemed a little less lost than they were before. The fear wouldn’t go away overnight, Rossi knew, but hopefully it did him some good to talk about it with someone. 

“How ‘bout you take a few days off? We can manage without the brilliant Dr. Reid for a little while.”

Spencer looked slightly panicked. “That’s not necessary! I-”

“Reid. I know you can do your job. I’m telling you to take some time for yourself. Get work out of your head for a bit.”

“But Hotch-” 

“I’ll talk to him. Don’t worry about it, okay? Just go home. Do whatever it is Dr. Reid does when he has down time.” 

Rossi could see Spencer studying his face. “Are you sure? I don’t want to cause problems.” 

_ This kid... _ He cared about everyone else so much more than himself. “Don’t make me drive you home myself, boy genius,” Rossi smiled. 

He turned pink again, reaching in his pocket and pulling out his wallet. Rossi stopped him before he could get it. “Ah-ah-ah. This one’s on me.” 

He paid quickly, before Reid could say anything to stop him. As they stepped out of the bar and back into the humidity, they both stopped for a second. “Hey, Rossi?” Reid looked like he didn’t quite know what to say, biting his bottom lip. “Thanks,” he mumbled eventually. 

“Don’t mention it, kid. And hey. You’re going to be okay, you know that right? I promise.” Rossi knew he shouldn’t be making promises like that, and ordinarily he wouldn’t. But from the way Reid’s posture seemed to relax a bit as the words left his mouth, it seemed like it was what he needed to hear. 

“I- I think so.”  _ Good enough for me. _ Rossi nodded at him, before Reid turned and started walking towards the metro stop.  _ That kid’s 29, and he’s been through more than most people have in a lifetime.  _ He had to admire his strength.

Shaking his head, Rossi turned and started walking back towards the Bureau.  _ Now,  _ he sighed.  _ What am I going to tell Hotch? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was honestly pretty hard to write. It was tough for me to get inside Rossi's head, so it might read as a bit OOC. but I did my best!! I hope you like it. 
> 
> Also, I definitely channeled the Ben and Leslie scene from Parks and Rec here because that energy just felt like it worked for Rossi.


	3. Aaron Hotchner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Reid's psych eval, Hotch has something more to discuss with his youngest agent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter from Reid's POV!! And the first chapter set after Emily fake-dies. SORRY IT TOOK LONGER THAN EXPECTED, I hope you like it.

_Last time I was on a couch like this was when my father left._

_It’s just not fair that she’s gone._

Reid really didn’t feel like talking. He knew Hotch meant well, and he knew that these psych evals were standard procedure in the FBI, but he wasn’t happy about being forced to deal with the swirl of feelings coursing through him. But once he started, it was like a floodgate had opened, and he couldn’t stop.

Hotch was giving him that fatherly look that Spencer really didn’t like. The words were coming faster than he could stop them; he knew he must sound like a frightened child, but he’d never been good about controlling his feelings. For better or worse, he wore his heart on his sleeve, and his voice was shaky as he bared his soul right there on that couch.

Reid talked about Dilaudid, about Emily’s help in getting him clean and how she took care of him when he almost had a relapse later. He talked about how they bonded over Russian literature and obscure science fiction, and how she would listen to his excited ramblings when no one else would. He talked about how he spent three days staring at the wall of his living room, trying to process the fact that he would never see Emily again, and by the time he finished there were tears on his cheeks. 

Glancing at the clock, Reid realized with a jolt that an hour had gone by. Hotch closed the file on his lap, still fixing him with that look of concern. Spencer wiped at his eyes hurriedly. Hotch wordlessly passed him a box of tissues, silently studying him as he dried his face. He didn’t remember all of what he’d said. Emotions were still uncomfortable territory for him, and when he was cracked open like this it was easier to let his mind wander freely, letting go as the words poured out of him.

 _He’s gotta talk to everyone else._ Reid stood up suddenly, pacing back and forth for a minute before turning to leave. It was a bad habit of his, the pacing. It was his tell, for when he was nervous and his emotions were pushing past his defenses in a way he couldn’t control. “I should- I should go. You need to talk to the others.” 

Hotch stood up, putting a hand on his shoulder before he could bolt for the door. “Reid. It’s okay.” His voice was soft. “Sit down and breathe for a minute.” He guided Spencer back onto the couch, before going back to his chair on the other side of the room. Hotch was always good at knowing what he needed, and he appreciated the extra space as he struggled to regain control of himself.

After a moment Hotch spoke again. “There was something else I wanted to talk to you about, while you’re here.” Reid glanced up, instantly on edge again. His shoulders tensed and his hands clenched in his lap. _Is he- does he think-?_

“I’m not gonna relapse.” He blurted the words out before he could stop himself as he looked at Hotch with wide eyes. That was _ages ago_ , how could Hotch still think… He was _clean,_ he’d been clean for years. He was still so ashamed of it, even now. 

From the look of surprise on Hotch’s face, he wasn’t expecting that. “That’s not it. I trust you, Reid. You know that by now.” Spencer flushed red, nodding slightly and looking down at the floor. He did know that, he _should_ know that, but part of him will never forget the look of shocked disapproval on Hotch’s face when the team found out. It was burned into his memory, and he still had trouble believing that the team didn’t think badly of him for his addiction, even now.

“I just want you to know you can talk to me. About anything.” Hotch’s expression softened, and he was smiling softly at him. 

“What do you want to know?” His voice cracked. 

“You’ve been acting strangely lately.” Blunt and to the point, in true Hotch fashion. His voice was gentle, though. “I was wondering if there’s something else that’s been bothering you.”

 _We’ve really got to reinstate that ban on intra-team profiling._ “I’m fine.” An automatic response, ready and practiced after years of use. But from the look Hotch gave him, he could see right through it. 

“You’re not fine. It’s okay not to be fine. You just lost a close friend, and I’ve seen you sneaking naps and wearing sunglasses in the bullpen when you think no one’s looking.” 

Damn it. He thought he was being so careful. His knee-jerk defense mechanisms were still kicking in. “I can do my job, Hotch. You don’t have to worry.” His voice was shaking.

“Spencer, that’s not what I’m worried about.” Now Hotch did sit down on the couch next to him. He rarely called Reid by his first name, and it made his breath catch in his throat. “Have you been sleeping?” 

He sighed. _Damn_ Hotch and his skills, and damn him for asking all the right questions when he was raw and emotional like this. “...no.” His voice was even quieter now, and his eyes were shining again. 

“Because of Emily?”

“No. I mean, yes, but- It started before that.” 

Hotch nodded matter-of-factly. “What’s going on?” There was his “coaxing information out of victims and unsubs” tone. Spencer hated that it was working on him. 

“I…” He swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat. “I’ve been getting these headaches.” 

“Migraines?” Hotch was giving him the “concerned father” look again. 

Reid nodded. “They started a few weeks ago. It’s better when we’re on cases, usually, but they’re really bad.” He realized how that might have sounded- he _was_ still talking to his boss, after all. “But I can still help the team-” 

_“Reid._ Stop worrying about work for a second.” Hotch was giving him a rueful smile. “I’m asking as your friend, not as your boss.” He put a hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “Just give it to me straight.” 

He sighed again as the lump grew bigger. “Sometimes I can’t focus. Lights bother me. And-” 

“And you’re worried this is a precursor to a schizophrenic break.” 

Reid sucked in a breath. The words sounded almost clinical coming from Hotch, but there was nothing but warmth and concern in his gaze. Dimly, Spencer realized he was trembling as he nodded. “Doctors say I’m fine, but statistically-” 

“Don’t think about statistics. Though, I know that’s difficult for you.” Hotch was trying to lighten the mood, and despite it all, Reid cracked a small smile. “It’s normal to be afraid of the unknown, Reid. And I’m sure losing Prentiss hasn’t made things easier.” 

He nodded again. “I talked to her about them, before. Felt good to tell someone, even if there’s still no sure outcome.” He felt a stray tear trickle down his face. “I know I should trust the doctors, but the headaches keep coming back, and I _can’t_ just take their word for it _.”_

Hotch glanced at the floor, seemingly choosing his next words carefully. “Reid, I don’t have an easy answer for you. But we’re all here for you.” Spencer glanced at the floor. “And for whatever it’s worth, how many people suffer from migraines?”

“At least 4 million have chronic daily ones.”

“Migraines can mean anything. All you can do is try and focus on what you can control, instead of worrying about what you can’t.” Hotch smiled at him again.

Reid knew he was right, but part of him was still paralyzed by fear. “I’m scared, Hotch. I’ve never been this scared.” He wasn’t sure why he was admitting it, but now that the words were out in the open he couldn’t take them back. 

“I know. It’s okay to be scared. It makes you human.” He leaned down to look Spencer in the eye. “But talking about it has been known to help, some.” 

As if on cue, Hotch’s phone rang. The spell was broken, and Reid watched Hotch’s face as he wiped at his own with another tissue. 

“Alright. Thanks, Garcia,” Hotch muttered. Reid stood up on slightly shaky legs. “Garcia’s got something for us.” He moved towards the door and Reid moved to follow. 

“Hey, Hotch?” 

His voice was still quiet, though it had a little more strength to it now. Hotch stopped, turning back to face him with an eyebrow raised. 

“Thank you.” The words were a whisper. “And just… don’t say anything to the others?” 

Hotch nodded. “Of course.” And then he was out the door, moving towards the briefing room. 

Reid stood in the doorway for a moment, running a hand through his hair as he took a few deep breaths. Talking about it _did_ help, at least for a little while. 

He made his way out of Hotch’s office, steeling himself as he caught sight of the rest of the team, already in the briefing room. Hotch threw him a knowing glance, but otherwise betrayed nothing. 

_Back to work._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's been sticking with this fic. All the kudos'/comments have really been incredible to see. I'm hoping to have the next chapter up a bit quicker, but work has been getting busy again lately. Love you all!!!


	4. Emily Prentiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reid and Emily, before and after Doyle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before Doyle is *very* slightly canon divergent.

Spencer sat at his desk, reading through yet  _ another _ book on headaches and brain injuries. He had a whole library full of them by now; he was steadily doing more and more of his own research as doctor after doctor kept telling him he was fine. The most recent migraine was still fading, and he frowned intently at the page in front of him as he struggled to focus. 

He lifted his head suddenly, tensing as a loud thud alerted him to Emily’s presence. He was used to getting so absorbed in his work that he forgot to notice what was around him, but now he was much more jumpy than usual. The stress was starting to eat at him. 

Prentiss had a sheepish look on her face, and Reid loosened his grip on the book in his hands as he relaxed. “I’m sorry,” Prentiss said with a smile. He knew she hadn’t meant to startle him, but he tried to brush it off before she saw just how rattled he really was.

Spencer jerked his head in the general direction of the break room, a small smile on his face. “Thought you were in there.” He kept his tone deliberately light, not wanting to draw attention to himself, as usual. 

Clearly, he wasn’t as good at diffusing the situation as he thought. “Are you okay?” He looked up and was met with a look of concern. He chose to ignore it, though, focusing on the more important point at hand: the information he’d been waiting to tell the team.  _ The case comes first.  _ “I’m sure these victims overlap somehow. Garcia pulled their phone numbers but so far I can’t find anything.”

Emily wasn’t going to let it slide, though. “You just  _ jumped. _ ” The care and worry was written all over her face, and as Spencer looked at her, he found himself letting his guard down, just a bit.  _ Everyone’s been piecing it together anyway.  _ He’d always trusted Emily, ever since the beginning. Maybe telling her wasn’t such a bad thing. 

He put down the book he was reading, glancing quickly around the bullpen. There was nobody around, which made this a bit easier to say. “I’ve been having these really intense headaches lately.” He kept his voice quiet, part of him still paranoid that someone else would hear his shameful secret. 

Emily’s brows furrowed. “Have you seen a doctor?” Prentiss was always practical, her brain always focusing on the best tactical plan in any situation. Spencer liked that about her; it made her a good person to talk to when you were looking for advice. Right now though, he was just happy to confide in someone. It seemed like every time he talked about it, the weight on his shoulders got a little bit lighter. 

“Yeah, a few. None of them have been able to figure it out.” Frustration seeped into his voice. He’d been to see at least 6 different doctors and gotten more MRIs than he was sure he could afford, and so far all anyone was able to tell him was that it was probably stress. 

Her face morphed into shock, and he could tell she wasn’t expecting that. It was rare that Prentiss was at a loss for words, but she let out a soft, “Oh.” He smiled at her, not really expecting anything else. “I’m sorry.” She briefly glanced at the bullpen around them. “Does anyone know?”

“Garcia and Rossi.” He muttered it softly, glancing up at her. “But… don’t tell them I told you? Just don’t mention it. I know you won’t baby me, but I’m worried that if the whole team knows, you’ll all treat me like I’m made of glass.” 

“I won’t. Don’t worry.” 

She smiled at him before Spencer quickly changed the subject. Part of him was always uncomfortable when the conversation lingered on him for too long. “How ‘bout you?” 

\---

It was bright and sunny outside, but Spencer felt like there’d been a large black cloud hanging over him for two weeks. 

The funeral was small, by FBI standards. Only the team, Emily’s family, and a few others attended. The headstone was modest, only a name and a date. Morgan had asked Reid to come up with a good epitaph, but his mind hadn’t been clear since Emily died in that hospital room, and he just couldn’t do it. 

Hotch had demanded he take some time off, and he knew the whole team could see that his head wasn’t right. He was quieter than normal, and he was sleeping even less than he had been before. He was so subdued that everyone was starting to notice; Morgan had even brought up Star Wars in conversation one day in an attempt to pull Spencer out of his funk. 

But nothing could fill the hole that Emily Prentiss had left. 

The cemetery was almost empty this early in the morning. A couple of stray groundskeepers were working, but Spencer seemed to be the only visitor. He wasn’t quite sure what made him come here; he hadn’t been able to, since the funeral. JJ thought it might help him, but he hadn’t taken her advice until today. He was squinting under his sunglasses, his head pounding as he came to a stop in front of Prentiss’ headstone. He was staring at the ground, at the flowers that were still there, but he couldn’t look at her grave- not yet. 

He’d only slept 3 hours last night. The headaches and the nightmares had gotten worse since Emily died, and no matter how much coffee he drank, the exhaustion seeped into his bones. 

Spencer stood there for a long time before he finally looked up at Emily’s tombstone. His lip was already trembling as he saw the dying flowers, the memory of the night Emily died bubbling to the surface of his mind. Part of him  _ still _ blamed himself; he should have seen it sooner, figured out that Emily was planning on going after Doyle alone.  _ Maybe if I’d been more focused… _

He took a deep breath. JJ had told him to talk to Emily, when he cried on her couch the other night. He didn’t think it would help much, but he figured he owed it to her to at least try.

“Hi Emily.” His voice was hoarse, coming out as no more than a whisper. He cleared his throat before trying again. “I uh… I don’t really know how to do this.” He laughed, fighting against the lump in his throat and running a hand through his hair.  _ What do I tell her? _

“It’s been two weeks since... since Doyle.” He sat down, crossing his legs in front of her headstone as his eyes shone with tears. “The team’s managing. Hotch made everyone take some time off, but it’s been so  _ hard _ without you.” His voice broke on the last word, and he took a couple of shaky breaths. 

“I miss you,” he whispered. “I miss talking about Russian literature, and sci fi, and- I want to see you again.” The tears were starting to roll down his cheeks now, and he stopped fighting them. His head was still pounding, and he rubbed at his temples as the tears fell, but something in him felt lighter as he kept talking.  _ Maybe it’s true about catharsis. _

“They always talk about the 5 stages of grief, but-” he swallowed. “It doesn’t feel like there are any stages. I just feel… empty.” He wiped at his eyes. “I keep looking up in the bullpen and expecting to see you at the desk next to mine, and you’re just  _ gone.” _

He was really crying now, tears forming a steady waterfall. He winced as a particularly vicious stab of pain ran through his temple, and he rubbed his forehead for a minute or two before speaking again. 

“I’m sleeping even less than I used to. Usually I could manage five or six hours before the headaches woke me up, but now… now I’m lucky if I get three hours in.” He would never have told her that when she was alive, but she’s  _ dead _ now, and she couldn’t worry about him or tell Hotch or the others. She couldn’t do anything at all. 

“The headaches are getting worse.” Spencer whispered the words as birds chirped overhead, as the sun beat down on him right there in that dismal cemetery. There he was, crying over one of his dearest friends, and these damn migraines couldn’t give him a break. 

But he had to tell her. They were almost unbearable now, and he was utterly  _ terrified _ that soon he would lose whatever piece of his mind was still there under the layer of sadness, and he would never be able to tell her anything ever again.

“They’re getting so much worse, and I know you know about- about my mom, and her illness.” He hadn’t told her his suspicions when they had talked about his headaches, but he’d caught her staring at him once or twice, even saw the schizophrenia DSM page on her computer screen one day. 

His breath was coming in short pants now, and he dropped his head into his hands. “I’m so  _ scared,  _ Emily. I’m scared that I’m losing my mind, and I don’t know how to  _ process _ this.  _ Any _ of this.” The unknown had always scared him, ever since he was a kid. He’d told the team about his fear of the dark, but what really scared him were the things he couldn’t answer, even with his genius IQ and his eidetic memory. The fear was paralyzing. 

“I don’t want to forget who I am… I don’t want to devolve into someone who can’t remember the team, or my mom, or…”  _ Or you. _ Because that would really be the worst thing. A dead person only lingers as long as their memory does, and he  _ couldn’t _ do that to Emily. If he forgot all the memories they shared, he would betray her all over again. 

He was quiet for a long time, sobbing softly on the still-dewy grass. He’d curled his knees into his chest, his head resting on his arms as his chest heaved. 

After a long time, when the sobbing had slowed slightly, Spencer spoke again. “I wish you were here, you know? I wish-” He hiccuped as he wiped at his eyes. “You always knew what to say. You were so good at saying what I needed to hear, and I just- I  _ need _ that right now, Prentiss. I really wish- I just wanna hear your voice again.” 

He could hear it, loud and clear in his head, her soft  _ I’m sorry _ when he first told her about the migraines. He could remember every word she ever said to him, and he’d never hated his genius brain more than he did now. But he’d never get to make any new memories with her- not anymore.

After a few moments Spencer looked up at the sky. He never prayed- he’d read too many books that speculated whether a god actually existed to believe in that sort of thing. But as he squinted against the sun, his head pounding and his tears still drying, he hoped that somewhere, Emily Prentiss could still hear him. He tried to take a couple deep breaths, attempting to get some sort of stability before standing up. When he did manage to pull himself to his feet, he glanced at his watch. He’d been here for a couple hours- he’d completely lost track of time. He did feel slightly better though, like part of the weight had been lifted off his shoulders. 

He sighed one last time as he stared up at the sky, the last stray tears trickling down his cheeks. “Don’t let me lose my mind, Emily. If you’re still out there, somewhere, I- I don’t want to forget you. Don’t let me forget you.” 

_ Please.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, okay so this chapter was hard to write, but I really liked the idea of Reid confessing how he feels to Emily after she died. Don't know that I'm necessarily *thrilled* with how this came out? But here you go. 
> 
> Here's a hint from the next chapter: it'll be a slightly-extended canon scene, with way more angst and fluff involved. I hope you guys like this!
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who's been sticking with this fic- I appreciate all of you so much. <3


	5. Derek Morgan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While profiling a schizophrenic killer, Morgan corners Reid in a bathroom and tries to figure out what's bothering him. 
> 
> (Extended scene from 6x19)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really liked the way this scene was done in canon, so I didn't want to change very much of it. But I embellished a bit. Hope you like it!!!

They stood in the center of the precinct, all the local cops’ eyes on them, but Morgan was only half paying attention as they gave the profile. His eyes kept flicking over to Reid, sitting on top of a desk with his eyes downcast. 

The kid had been subdued the past couple days, and Morgan could tell this case had him on edge. Derek had been keeping an eye on him ever since Prentiss died, but lately he seemed to be getting worse. He wasn’t talking nearly as much as he usually did, and he seemed fidgety and agitated. There were dark circles under his eyes, like he hadn’t been sleeping. He seemed sad, morose even, and every time someone mentioned the UnSub he seemed to grow slightly pale.

Normally, Reid was the most energetic when they took turns giving the profile. It was when the kid was really in his element, eager to show off his big genius brain and impress the locals. Now though, he wasn’t jumping in at all, and Morgan’s eyes couldn’t help but shift over to him every time someone else was speaking. 

The kid was seated on top of a desk— a weirdly endearing habit of his— hunched over and silent. He wasn’t paying much attention to what was going on around him and his hands were fidgeting in his lap. He was so spacey that he didn’t even realize Hotch was calling his name, and Morgan watched as he snapped back into the conversation to give the geographic profile. It didn’t have his usual energy, though; Reid muttered something vague and quick before going back to staring at his hands. 

Derek should have known this case would be hard for the kid. They’d worked cases involving schizophrenia before, but he knew that Reid was still broken up over Prentiss— he was fragile right now. Not to mention that the kid was exactly the right age for a schizophrenic break to happen. His mom’s illness had to be weighing pretty heavily on his mind at the moment. That kind of fear coupled with the stress of losing a close friend… it was a wonder Reid was even functioning. The kid had a habit of keeping everything too close to the chest as it destroyed him from the inside out, and no matter how many times the team told him it wasn’t healthy, he never seemed to listen.

They finished their presentation to the cops, and Morgan rubbed his temple with a sigh. He was worried, dangerously so, and he hadn’t been sleeping particularly well either. He had to talk to Reid, figure out what was going on and talk him down before he did something stupid. At the very least, maybe he could put the kid’s spiraling brain to rest a bit. 

Glancing around the precinct, though, he didn’t see Spencer anywhere. The kid must have slipped out as the cops dispersed, and Derek felt an irrational terror seize him as he tried to catch his teammates’ eyes. He flashed back to years ago, when he found Reid curled up on the floor during his Dilaudid days. Pretty Boy had had a relapse at Quantico, and he nearly had to send him to the  _ hospital _ because of it. 

Finally, Morgan made eye contact with Hotch, who jerked his head towards the men’s room with a knowing look in his eye. He mouthed a  _ thank you _ as he made his way through the crowd of people, the apprehension forming a tight coil in his gut.  _ The kid’s too stubborn for his own good. He always thinks he’s gotta deal with everything on his own.  _

\----

Spencer burst into the men’s room, trying to take deep calming breaths and slow his pounding heart rate.  _ Our unsub is a white male paranoid schizophrenic who suffers from hallucinations.  _ He knew the team didn’t  _ mean _ to make the profile sound so accusatory, but he couldn’t help but feel like the others had their eyes on him the whole time they were talking.

They all knew about his mom, and it would only take a quick Google search to look up the statistics on genetic predisposition to schizophrenia. Logically, he knows that they don’t think he’s anything like the UnSub they’re chasing, but some part of his brain—the one that is constantly  _ terrified _ of turning into a madman— can’t help but feel the stigma crashing down on him like a ten-ton weight. 

After a while, Reid sighed as he ran a shaky hand through his hair. His heart was still beating too fast, but his breaths weren’t coming quite as fast and he felt a little less trapped. He didn’t know how long he’d been standing in the bathroom, but the precinct’s bullpen felt like it was suffocating him and he had to  _ get out,  _ go somewhere where he wouldn’t feel like every cop was scrutinizing him like he was about to snap. 

He walked over to the sink, turning on the faucet and splashing some cool water against his face. He didn’t feel quite so flushed anymore, but the cold seemed to help ground him back to reality a bit. 

Then, the door creaked open behind him, and his whole body tensed.  _ Aw, no.  _ He should have known it was only a matter of time before someone came looking for him. Glancing up, he saw that it was Morgan who had entered. Derek was watching him with a concerned expression, and Reid felt a strange mixture of relief and terror flood his system. Morgan was always good at talking him down when he was in a mood like this, but Spencer worried that the other profiler would think he was slipping if he opened up. 

Eventually, the small, vulnerable part of him that  _ really _ needed someone to talk to won out. “You know, that profile kind of makes it sound like schizophrenia leads to serial killing.” Reid grabbed a towel and padded his face dry, trying to avoid looking Morgan in the eye.

“That’s not what we said at all, Reid.” 

“My mom has schizophrenia— there are many different types.” His voice was quiet, betraying a thin layer of fear hidden underneath the anger, even as much as he tried to hide it. He hadn’t meant to be so defensive, but he underestimated how much this case really rattled him. Plus, part of him was always on edge when the topic of schizophrenia came up; it always felt like, when someone insulted schizophrenics, they were personally insulting him and his mom, even after all these years. 

“I know that.” Morgan was keeping his voice impossibly soft, fixing Reid with a sad look as he spoke. Derek was always  _ infuriatingly _ good at seeing right through him, when he wanted to be. 

Spencer tried to ignore the look for now, continuing as if on autopilot. “Catatonic, disorganized…” He turned around as he talked, leaning back against the sink. “Just because someone suffers from an inability to organize their thoughts, or they can’t bathe or dress themselves doesn’t mean they  _ stabbed someone _ in the chest 30 times post mortem-” 

Morgan cut him off before he could finish. “Reid. What’s really going on?” 

_ Damn him,  _ damn Derek and his ability to always know exactly what he was thinking. But Spencer kept going,  _ really _ not ready to talk about what was going through his head. Better to focus on the case– that was the important thing. “Our UnSub’s hallucinations aren’t fractured, like a typical schizophrenic.” He looked up at Morgan as he talked, trying to ignore how the look in his eye cut him like a knife. “They’re vivid and clear, leading me to believe that we’re missing an important variable.” His voice grew softer as he finished. “Rather than making crazy conjectures, I think we should be trying to figure out what it is.”

Reid knew it wasn’t crazy; the profile was accurate, as much as he hated to admit it. But he  _ hated  _ it, hated the fact that, if any of those beat cops out there knew his history, they would look at him as if he was no better than the lunatic they were chasing. He was dangerously close to becoming the same kind of freak, and he hated that Morgan was about to figure that out.

“Hey, listen to me.” There was so much tenderness in Morgan’s voice that it made his insides clench. “I know this is a scary age for you. It’s when schizophrenic breaks happen.”  _ So he does know.  _ Spencer didn’t know if he was relieved, or even more worried. “Have you talked to anybody about this?” Derek laid a tentative hand on his shoulder.

He swallowed as he felt the familiar pain, the feeling of someone squeezing his heart like a vice. The wound was still so  _ raw.  _ “...Emily.” He glanced down at his hands, unable to look Morgan in the eye. He remembered the bitter tears he’d shed while standing over her grave, as he looked up at the sky and confessed that his headaches were getting worse. Just thinking about it made him ache. 

“Okay, hey. Look at me,” Morgan murmured, bringing Spencer’s attention back to him. “Have you seen a doctor?” His hand was still on Reid’s shoulder, and he squeezed it in a comforting gesture. 

Reid nodded slightly, sighing as he spoke again. “They all say I’m fine.” He was mumbling now, as he thought about all the appointments, all the brain scans and all the responses:  _ It’s probably just stress. You’ll be alright in a couple weeks. _

“And why don’t you believe them?” 

“ _ Why?”  _ Suddenly Spencer was getting angry again, irrationally defensive as they came to the heart of the problem. He stood up on slightly shaky legs, pacing around the small bathroom. “Because predicting one’s chances of developing a genetic condition are like finding a penny in an ocean. There’s  _ no way _ for them to know whether I’m suddenly going to go crazy and start wandering the streets like a lunatic!” 

He paced back and forth for another minute or so. Morgan watched him intently, but he wasn’t making a move to stop him. Maybe he knew it was wise to stay out of his way right now, as he worked through his nervous energy.  _ That’s right, let the potentially crazy man get it out of his system.  _ The bitter thought crossed his mind before he could stop it. 

Then, as suddenly as it came on, all the fight seemed to drain out of him suddenly. Morgan was trying to  _ help _ him– he didn’t deserve to be yelled at like this. He leaned back against the sink, his head drooping as he finally opened up. “I have terrible headaches. I can’t sleep at night. I can’t focus on our cases. I only read 5 books last week!” They were ugly truths, ones that he hated to admit, but he’d already told a good chunk of the team, and there was something comforting about having them out in the open. Maybe now that they knew, they could keep an eye on him and stop him before he went postal. 

“ _Hey._ Listen to me, kid. Headaches don’t mean you’re losing your mind, you know that.” Morgan’s hand was back on his shoulder, and Reid tried to focus on the comforting touch, and the sound of his voice. “You’ve gotta cut yourself some slack. You’re also depressed about Prentiss, and I get it. We _all_ are- I miss her every day, and I know you do too.” 

The lump in his throat was back. “I talked to her, afterwards. I– I went to her grave and told her the headaches were getting worse. I think– I think maybe it helped.” He didn’t know why he was admitting it, but it felt good to let someone know.

“Good. You can’t bottle this stuff up.” Now Morgan’s hand was rubbing his back in a circular motion, and Reid felt his cheeks turn pink. That was something Morgan did back when he was half-delirious from Dilaudid withdrawal, when he was craving a hit so badly that he thought he was going to die. Morgan sat with him for hours, rubbing his back as his body struggled to put itself back together again. To this day, Morgan knew he found it soothing. 

“C’mon, look at me.” Reid glanced up to see that Morgan was smiling at him. “If your mind really was splitting, do you really think you’d be able to figure out that this team is missing a variable?” 

Almost against his will, Spencer found himself cracking a small smile. “I’m just speculating that we are.” His face grew serious again as his brow furrowed. “I need to prove it.” He needed to prove that there was  _ something _ different between himself and the UnSub, otherwise it would haunt him forever. 

“You mean  _ we _ need to prove it.” Morgan was still smiling, but there was an imploring look in his eye as he stared at Reid. “You know you’re not alone in this right? Not ever.” Spencer flushed again as he nodded. Derek was always on his side, no matter what, and he still had trouble wrapping his head around that fact. 

“Look, I know this scares the hell out of you.” His voice had a somber edge to it. “And the uncertainty is hard to live with. But, the moment you’re wandering the streets aimlessly?  _ That’s _ when I’ll be concerned about you, not before. You got that?”

Reid let out a small laugh. “I got it. Thanks, Morgan.” It wasn’t a perfect resolution– it never would be, not until he turned 30 without a break, but it was comforting to know that his friends still stood by him no matter what. 

“C’mon Pretty Boy. You look like you haven’t slept in days, and there’s a couch in the precinct break room with your name on it.” Derek clapped him on the back as his eyes widened. 

“Morgan, no. I–”

“Uh-uh, no arguing with me. You’re gonna need your strength to catch this guy, and the rest of the team can handle things while you get some shut eye for an hour or two.” Morgan led him out of the bathroom, his hand still resting on his upper back. Reid tried to ignore the other people in the room, but part of him still felt like there were eyes on him as Derek steered him towards the break room. 

“Hotch-” 

“I’ll talk to Hotch. You just get some sleep for a little while.” Morgan all but shoved him down onto the break room couch, producing a blanket seemingly from nowhere and draping it over him. 

Spencer swallowed thickly as he felt the exhaustion of the past few days slam into him like a freight train. His head wasn’t pounding as much as it usually was, and he felt like maybe he  _ could _ sleep for an hour or two, if Morgan was sure they didn’t need him. 

“I–” He swallowed the lump in his throat and tried again. “Thanks, Morgan. Wake me if you need me for anything?” 

Derek ruffled his hair with a smile. “Sure thing, Pretty Boy. Try and get some rest.” 

Spencer sighed as Derek left the room, closing the door behind him and dimming the lights. Part of him was embarrassed at needing to take a nap like this. The other part, though, the one that had been fighting against exhaustion and fear for the past three days, was just happy to  _ finally _ have a moment of peace and quiet. 

His friends didn’t think he was crazy. They didn’t think that he was losing his mind, and they cared about him enough to let him–  _ make him,  _ even– take a break for once. He knew the headaches and sleepless nights and schizophrenic killer would still be there when he woke up, but for now, he tried to put that out of his mind. He tried instead to focus on the warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest that always came when the team was looking out for him like this. He loved them, he really did, and he felt much,  _ much _ calmer than he had a few hours ago. 

The couch was surprisingly comfortable too, and as Spencer drifted off into a much-needed nap, he wasn’t worried about headaches and mental illness and risk factors for the first time in a long time. Instead, he thought of his friends, of the people that he loved and the ever-present conviction that he never,  _ ever _ wanted to disappoint them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is very much appreciated as always. Also holy HECK, thank you guys so much for 100 kudos!!! I've been blown away by the response to this fic and I love you all. <3


	6. Jennifer Jareau

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I came to your house for 10 weeks in a row, crying over losing a friend._
> 
> On one of these late nights, Spence opens up. JJ tries to help him through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was heavily inspired by [this other fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25123501) that I wrote about Spence and JJ in the aftermath of Emily. I love their relationship so much, so I love writing about it.

They were sitting on JJ’s couch, the TV playing low in the background. Spencer’s head was in her lap, her fingers carding through his messy hair and his hand in hers. His tears had finally dried after almost an hour, but his face still betrayed a sadness she wasn’t sure would ever leave. 

This had become a regular occurrence for them since Emily “died.” She knew the truth, of course, but keeping the details from Spence was taking its toll on her. He was taking it harder than any of them, and for the past couple weeks, he would always seem to find his way to her house, his eyes shining with tears and his bottom lip trembling. She didn’t mind being his shoulder to cry on, but seeing him in so much pain like this when she couldn’t stop it made her _ache_. He had such a big heart, he really did, and watching him suffer while she knew the truth made her feel like a monster.

His eyes were red, wide and unfocused as he stared at the TV. Doctor Who was playing, because she knew it was his favorite and he admitted early on in their friendship that he liked to use it to calm down. She could see that he wasn’t paying attention, though, just staring straight ahead as the despair ate him up from the inside. They’d been here before, in the aftermath of the Hankel case and during his struggle with dilaudid. Back then, he found his way here, long legs curled up into a ball as his body trembled with exhaustion and fever. 

Spencer let out a small sound, almost a whimper, and JJ glanced down at him, still running her fingers through his hair. Sometimes he would fall asleep like this, but now she could see his brow furrowed, a vein pulsing in his forehead. His fingers twitched where they were laced with hers. 

“Hey,” she murmured, breaking the quiet. “What are you thinking?” When he let his guard down like this, his emotions usually poured out of him almost against his will, and JJ was grateful. It meant that she could do something to help, instead of letting him stew in his pain. 

Spencer peered up at her, his red-rimmed eyes still shining with unshed tears. “Can you dim the lights?” His voice was quiet and hoarse from the crying, and she didn’t waste any time nodding at him. But her heart leapt right to her throat, because the pain on his face was unmistakable, and it seemed different, this time. 

She reached over to the lamp on her side-table, flicking it off. His face relaxed a bit, but she could still see him wincing in the dim light. 

“Spence? What’s wrong?” She smoothed her thumb over the crease in his forehead when he winced again. 

“ ‘M fine.” He was mumbling, his face still contorted in pain, and her heart was beating much faster now, because he _wasn’t_ fine, something was _wrong,_ and it wasn’t just the grief. This was something new. 

“Hey, look at me.” JJ helped him sit up, even though he grumbled about it. “You’re not fine. What’s going on?”

He sighed, looking down at where their hands were still joined instead of at her face. “Head hurts.” He was still mumbling, almost like he was ashamed to admit it. His other hand was rubbing at his temple. 

She relaxed slightly. Headaches were something she knew how to deal with. “Alright. Need me to get you something? Aspirin?” She kept her voice soft, not wanting to go full-on mother hen just yet. 

But Spencer shook his head. “Took some. It doesn’t really help anyway.” 

She watched him for a few moments, taking in the way his body was hunched over. He was still grimacing, but he was trying to hide it from her now, like he didn’t want her to see the fact that he was in pain. But as she looked at him, she realized that she’d seen this look on him before. Occasionally he would lie back, pressing a hand to his forehead as they worked in the bullpen, or when he thought they were all asleep on the jet. And the more she watched him now, the worse he looked. 

_This isn’t a normal headache._ She fought back the involuntary _panic_ she felt whenever something was wrong with him. “Spence. What’s really going on?” 

He looked up at her, his eyes still shining, and she bit back the growing lump in her throat. “I’ve been getting migraines,” he admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper. 

“Okay. For how long?” She put a bit of her _Agent Jareau_ tone into her voice to get through to him. _Focus on the practical. Focus on how to help. Try not to think about the last time he had migraines, when the withdrawal hit._

“It’s not– not that kind of migraine. I’m not– I’m clean,” he stammered, and JJ marveled at his ability to always know what she was thinking before she did. 

“I know,” she murmured back, because it was important that he knew she still trusted him. That she always would.

“They started after that case in Miami.” 

“Did you talk to someone?” 

Spencer nodded. “Doctors say it’s probably just stress.” But his lip was trembling again, and his shoulders were still tense. There was a thin layer of uncertainty in his voice. He looked at her face again, and she struggled to breathe as she looked him in the eye. There was so much _fear_ there, raw and naked and profound as he stared at her. His eyes were pleading, almost begging for help, and the lump was getting bigger now. And because she knew him impossibly well, she immediately knew what he was thinking. 

“You’re worried you’re having a break, aren’t you,” JJ said. She squeezed his hand as she did, but his face still seemed to crumble further as she said the words out loud. He nodded slowly, seemingly not trusting his voice, and she tried to ignore her heart shattering in her chest. He’d told her once, admitting after one drink too many how completely and utterly _terrified_ he was of succumbing to his mother’s illness.

“I’m _scared,_ JJ.” A single stray tear trailed down his face, the pain and fear written all over his body. 

“ _Hey._ I know– it’s okay. You’re okay.” Now _her_ face crumbled, because the vulnerability was plain as day in his voice, and she couldn’t help but pull him close. She held him tight, like he would fade away if she let him go, and she felt him bury his face into her shoulder as he hugged her back.

He didn’t deserve this. _Maybe if he knew about Emily…_ But she couldn’t tell him, couldn’t lift the weight from his shoulders, and the puddle of guilt in her stomach got a little bigger. She could feel him shaking, tears wetting her shirt again. She rubbed his back as she let him cry, the small sounds he was making piercing her like bullets. Spencer Reid had such a brilliant, beautiful mind, and the fact that he lived in constant sheer _terror_ of it never failed to rip her in two. 

Eventually, she pulled back, forcing him to look her in the eye as his sobs tapered off. “I can’t stand not knowing.” He was whispering again, his eyes shining. 

“I know,” JJ said, running a hand through his hair. “But worrying yourself sick is only going to make it worse, you know that.” She kept her voice gentle, not wanting to push him. “You need to trust the doctors, they know what they’re doing.”

“I _can’t_. They can’t know for sure that it won’t happen. I know the signs, the statistics, they–” He was getting frantic, shaking harder as he kept talking.

“Then trust _me_ , Spence,” she said, her tone forceful as she grabbed his hand again. “Do you trust me?”

He nodded. “With my life.”

“Then trust me. I know how hard this is, but nothing’s going to happen to you as long as I can help it, okay? And even if you do have a break, _you aren’t alone_.” 

JJ could tell he wanted to say something back, probably rattle off some statistics about genetic disposition to mental illness and the impossibility of predicting a schizophrenic break. She cut him off with a look that brokered no argument though, and he blanched. 

She prodded him again. “ _Okay?_ ” 

Spencer looked her in the eye, and something in his eyes seemed to change. The fear was still there, raw and visceral and impossible to hide, but now he watched her with something akin to awe. He stared at her like he couldn’t quite believe she was here, talking him down like this. Like he still didn’t think he deserved her, or any of them. Like he thought he was unworthy. 

And JJ wanted to _throttle him,_ because no matter how many times the team reminded Spencer Reid that he was _so beyond_ worth it, she could tell there was some part of him that still refused to believe it. There was a part of him that thought he was damaged goods, a part that she could never seem to erase no matter how hard she tried. 

“Spence?” She hated that she couldn’t give him an easy answer. There was no magic word she could say to put his fears to rest, and there never would be. He had to live with the uncertainty until he got older and he was out of danger. But the least she could do was to try and make him see that he wasn’t alone, that he had people to help him through it. 

For the longest time he continued to stare at her, and it was one of those rare moments where she had absolutely no idea what he was thinking. There were so many emotions lurking on his face; grief, fear, and pain mixed with awe and love to form a bizarre cocktail in his eyes. 

Eventually, he swallowed, squeezing her hand. “Okay,” he mumbled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only two chapters left, you guys!!! I'm excited and scared at the same time. Thank you again to everyone who's bothered to read this fic, you all are incredible :)


	7. Diana Reid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before he talks to the BAU, Spencer has some questions for his mom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is chronologically the first scene in this collection. I felt like Spence would confide in his mom first, before confiding in anyone. 
> 
> Also, I will be honest. This was by FAR the hardest chapter to write, and I'm still not thrilled with how it came out. Diana was a hard character to capture, and it was difficult for me to really capture this scene the way i wanted to. I spent a long time thinking about how to write this, and tbh I think this chapter will probably be the weak link of this fic, but I didn't want to agonize over it anymore, so I figured I'd just post it so I can stop worrying about it. 
> 
> I really do hope you like it, even if I'm never going to love how it came out. ONLY ONE MORE CHAPTER TO GO FOLKS. GET EXCITED.

“Hi Mom.”

Spencer took a seat on the couch opposite Diana, dropping his messenger bag on the floor next to him. His smile was bright and eager; it’d been too long since he’d been able to visit, and the rare weekend off gave him the perfect opportunity. 

“Spencer! What are you doing here?” His mom was smiling at him, wearing that warm grin he always loved. It almost made him forget the thing he wanted to ask her, and the apprehension coiling in the pit of his stomach. 

“I had a couple days off, so I thought I’d come see you,” Reid said warmly. “Is that okay?” 

Diana nodded. “Of course, Spencer.” She held up the book in her lap. “I was just reading your favorite– you remember?” 

Reid laughed. “Yeah, yeah of course.” 

Then Diana squinted at him, giving him that searching look that always seemed to see right through him. He gulped; Diana Reid always was uncannily perceptive when it came to her son, even while heavily medicated. 

“Alright, Spencer. Out with it.”

Reid laughed nervously again. _Damn her._ “What– what do you mean?” 

She gave him a wry smile, grabbing his hand. “What did I tell you the last time? You can’t lie to your mother, Spencer. We always know.” 

_A mother knows._ Reid sighed. There wasn’t any way for him to chicken out of this, was there? “Mom, listen…” He took a deep breath, trying not to think about how much his heart was pounding. “Can I ask you a question?”

Diana frowned, pulling back slightly. “It’s not about murder is it? Last time you started asking questions, it was about a murder.” 

Spencer smiled, squeezing her hand. “No, no I promise it’s not about murder,” he said, laughing. 

“Then what’s going on, kiddo?”

“Do you remember… do you remember when you first started getting sick?” The words came out all in a rush, like he couldn’t get them out fast enough. The question had been gnawing at him ever since he first bought the plane ticket to Vegas, and now that it was out in the open he was more nervous than ever. He needed to _know,_ even if he wasn’t going to like the answer. He needed to know if these migraines were the beginning of the end. 

Even so, he couldn’t help but glance around nervously, making sure that none of the doctors were nearby. He _was_ in a psychiatric hospital, after all. 

Diana’s face was dark, and she was staring at Spencer with a frown that he _really_ didn’t like. He didn’t want to upset her, he _never_ wanted to upset her, but he needed answers, and he could only read so many articles in medical journals about early-onset schizophrenia before his head exploded. So he turned to the one person he knew would never lie to him, no matter what. 

“Spencer, what’s this about?” She was still frowning at him.

“Just… just tell me?” He knew she was smart, even with her illness, and he knew she would piece things together in a few minutes, but he couldn’t say it out loud. He couldn’t admit how terrified he was of ending up like her, even though he knew she would understand. 

“Well, I don’t remember much. Most of what I know is from what you and the doctors have told me.”

“What was it like, at first? Did you get headaches, or have trouble sleeping before you started getting really sick?” He kept his voice soft, gentle, but he was hanging on her every word with the kind of rapt focus he usually reserved for cases or particularly interesting books. 

Diana sighed, biting her lip as she thought. “No… I don’t think I had headaches. I remember not being able to concentrate very much, and people told me that I was getting overly emotional at times. And then I was convinced that I was being watched all the time.” 

Spencer let out the breath he’d been holding, and thanked the universe that she was having a relatively lucid day. _She didn’t have headaches. That’s a good sign?_ But he _had_ been having trouble focusing lately, and he hadn’t been sleeping well the past couple weeks. 

Something must have shown on his face, because his mother’s frown got even bigger, and she reached over to cup his cheek. 

“Spencer, what’s really going on? Where are all of these questions coming from?” And he wanted to _cry_ suddenly, because he never could hide anything from her, as much as he might want to. _A mother knows._

“Mom, I–” He swallowed back the sudden lump in his throat and tried again. “I’ve been having these headaches lately.” His voice was barely above a whisper. He couldn’t help but glance around again, making sure none of the doctors were within earshot. He almost felt bad confiding in his mom, not wanting to worry her or make her think he was ashamed of her. But he was so unbelievably _terrified_ of these headaches, scared to death that something was happening to him that he couldn’t fix. He couldn’t talk to the BAU, not about this, and his mom never failed to make him feel better, no matter what. 

“Oh, honey…” She grabbed both of his hands in hers, and the lump in his throat suddenly got bigger. “It’s okay to be scared.” 

And then he really _did_ almost cry, the sudden wave of emotion threatening to overwhelm him. Diana always seemed to know what Spencer needed, almost before he did. But he suddenly felt overwhelmingly guilty, confessing his fears of ending up just like her. 

“Mom, you know that I love you, right? More than anything?” He was almost pleading with her, begging her to understand that his paralyzing fear of developing schizophrenia didn’t mean that he loved her any less.

“Oh, Spencer, it’s alright. You don’t have to worry about offending me.” She was giving him another wry smile, but he implored her to understand anyway. 

“But you do, right? Know that?” 

Her smile softened, and there was a knowing look in her eye as she nodded. “Of course.” 

He relaxed, just a fraction, relieved that she understood. Part of him wondered if she was lying for his benefit, but a bigger part, the selfish part, was just relieved that he hadn’t upset her.

“I’m really worried, ya know?” He was still trying to be mindful, trying to keep the worst of it from her while still saying what he needed to. 

“I know you are, kiddo.” And then she smirked at him again. “You always did worry too much, even as a boy.” 

Spencer let out a watery laugh, before glancing down at the floor. “I don’t know what to do, Mom. I don’t like not knowing.” 

“Oh you always _hated_ when someone wouldn’t tell you the answer. You used to grill your father and I for _hours_ whenever you couldn’t figure something out.” She was trying to lighten the mood, he knew. Trying to make him laugh and take his mind off of his fears. 

Then she squeezed his hands again. “You’ll figure everything out. You always do.”

Out of nowhere she grabbed a book that was sitting next to her on the couch. “Now, come on, Spencer. I’m prepping for a lecture tomorrow, and you’ve got to do the readings the same as everyone else.” 

Reid sighed, smiling at her and nodding slightly. Her words didn’t put him at ease the way he hoped they would. He was hoping he would tell her that the change was more sudden and jarring, that headaches weren’t one of the warning signs… _something_ that would make him believe he wasn’t in danger. 

But at the same time, part of him felt more relaxed than he had since the headaches started. Maybe that was just a side effect of being with his mom, since he always seemed to feel better just by being _near_ her. Maybe it was because she understood how he felt, and she had faith in him. Somehow, she seemed to know that he was going to be okay, and just that simple fact seemed to put him at ease. 

He didn’t know what he hoped to accomplish by coming here. He knew that nothing she said would banish the doubts and fears completely, but he had to try anyway. He had to talk to _someone_ before the fear totally paralyzed him, and he felt better now that the words were at least out in the open. 

But saying it out loud made his fears seem more real. And Spencer _really_ didn’t want this to be real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter will i think be the most interesting.... at least I hope so!!!! I'm really excited to finally get to the end of this fic- hopefully I'll be able to get the last chapter out sooner rather than later! Though, work things are getting busy so I'm not sure when it'll be ready.


	8. Jason Gideon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spencer often writes letters to Gideon that he never sends. This is one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a headcanon of mine that I am really passionate about- Spence writing to gideon during important moments, but never actually sending the letters. I thought this would be a fun way to write this chapter, especially sicne I've never written in this style before. 
> 
> Also HOLY SHIT FOLKS, WE'VE REACHED THE END OF THE LINE!!! I wanna say a HUGE thank you to everyone who's supported this fic throughout every stage of the process. I've really enjoyed writing it, and I've had a blast knowing how much y'all have enjoyed it. I have more criminal minds fics in the works, so if you'd like to check some of those out you're welcome to do so, and I also write a lot for star wars if you enjoy star wars fics. 
> 
> Other than that, thank you, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU, and I hope you enjoy the last chapter :)

Hi Jason. 

Part of me doesn’t know why I’m still writing these letters. I know you’re never going to read them. I’ve written so many by now, but never bothered to send a single one. JJ said it would be good for me, back when you first left. She thought writing about everything would be a good way to process my emotions– something her therapist had her do once, I think. But lately I’ve been wondering what the point of it all is. 

So much has happened since I last wrote to you. It’s been… well, a rough year is an understatement, to say the least. Prentiss– Prentiss is  _ dead _ , Gideon. She was such an integral part of the team for so long, and now she’s just  _ gone.  _ I don’t know how to deal with that, you know? I don’t know how to deal with the fact that she’s never coming back. I’ve been reading so many self-help books, just trying to understand, but… lately I just keep thinking you were right. 

You understood this job better than any of us. But you couldn’t see the point–you couldn’t see why dealing with all the crap we see was worth it. Before, I never understood it; I could never understand how you could just abandon the team like that, after everything we’d been through. But now I think I’m starting to get it. 

We can’t keep each other safe. We like to say that we’ll always have each other’s backs, but when push comes to shove, people keep getting hurt. Haley died. Hotch almost died. Prentiss died.  _ I’ve _ almost died multiple times. What’s the point of keeping other people safe from bad guys if we can’t protect ourselves? 

The funeral was two days ago. I haven’t been able to sleep since. I just keep thinking that if we’d been faster, if we’d been smarter… if we’d done even  _ one _ thing differently, she’d still be alive. I keep replaying that whole day in my head. Times like these, I really hate being a genius, you know? I remember every second of it.

You were always good at knowing what to say in these situations. You always looked out for me when I needed you to, and I never really told you how grateful I was for that. And then after you left, I learned to take care of myself, but lately it’s been getting so much  _ harder _ . Everything’s getting harder. 

It’s not just Prentiss, Jason. I wish that was all it was– then at least I would have an explanation for all this. 

You know about my mom. About her condition. After the Fisher King incident, you never asked me about it, but there were times that I felt like you were keeping a closer eye on me. I didn’t know why, at the time, but now I’m starting to wonder if you were just waiting for the day that I went crazy too. 

I’ve been having these headaches. Migraines, actually. They’re  _ awful _ , they hurt like hell and they last for days at a time. They keep me awake at night. They’ve been keeping me awake for weeks, even before Prentiss. I’ve been having trouble focusing on cases, too… It's the first time I can ever remember that happening. There have been a couple times that it took me a half hour to come up with an answer that I should have seen in five minutes. 

Something about writing it down like this makes it seem so… cut and dry. On paper, I know what this means. I know what’s probably coming next. The paranoia, the delusions… on and on until the schizophrenia really hits me and I wind up in a hospital. It’s like a cloud is hanging over my head, and I’m just waiting for it to start pouring. But I’ve been to so many different doctors by now, and they’re all telling me I’m  _ fine _ . I don’t understand it. 

The not knowing is the worst. It’s like… like being suspended in midair, I guess. Every day I wake up thinking that today’s going to be my last day of sanity, and I’m freaking  _ terrified _ of it. I don’t know how to deal with it, you know? 

I’ve been trying to imagine what you’d say in this situation, but it’s been so long since we talked that I can’t, really. I have a feeling you’d say to trust my gut, instead of what the facts say, but how can I trust my instincts if there’s a chance my mind is irreparably flawed? How can I do my job if I can’t be sure that my mind is sound? I’m really worried; what if I go with my gut, and it gets someone else hurt? Or worse?

I’ve talked to some of the others about it, and they all say the same thing. It’s probably just stress, you shouldn’t worry, we’re all here for you. Which is nice to hear, but… will they still be here once I become a drooling mess who can’t eat, bathe, or think straight? I’m not so sure. But I  _ dream _ about it; I have nightmares about the team staring at me through the walls of a psych ward. It’s really starting to freak me out. 

Logically, I know there’s nothing I can do, other than what I’ve been doing. Reading all the warnings, paying attention, going to doctors. But I can’t break this down into cold, hard facts, and that’s the worst part. 

Heh. Part of me does feel better after getting all that down on paper. It’s cathartic, knowing there’s someone you can confess everything to that won’t ever hear it. I guess I should thank you for that, if I ever get the nerve to call you again. I can put all the messy  _ shit _ in my head into words and there’s no one around to judge me for it. 

If you ever decide to come back to the BAU, remind me to tell you about these letters sometimes. Or, if you come see me in whatever psych ward I wind up in, you can remind me of how things used to be. Until then, there’s nothing else to do except keep trudging through the abyss, I guess. Keep taking it one day at a time and try not to think about how paralyzing the fear is. 

Thanks for listening, Jason. I miss you.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is very much appreciated!!! You can also find me on tumblr at batmanwholaughss.


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